


call me maybe

by LydiaOfNarnia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Accidents, Hospitals, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 04:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10937217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: When the phone rings as he's parking his car in front of his apartment, he knows exactly who it is. There's only one person who calls instead of texting Joe Toye, and it's the person who literally cannot take a hint.





	call me maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I write a really intense passionate fic and then I use "call me maybe" as the title. I'm a freaking writer.
> 
> As always, this fic is based off the fictional portrayals from HBO's Band of Brothers miniseries, and not the real life guys!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

At first, he figures it's a Luz Thing.

He’s begun to classify most of the weird things Luz does as Luz Things. Luz is a weird guy in general, so accepting that there is a level of weird that is all his own makes him seem a little less bizarre. It’s better for Joe’s peace of mind.

This Luz Thing isn’t really weirder than any of the other stuff the guy has done. It’s just annoying, and it’s grinding on Joe’s nerves. (Luz's ability to grind on Joe’s nerves is amazing, and Joe doesn’t understand how it never seems to make him any less tolerable. With anyone else, he’d avoid them like the plague; but Luz's level of annoying makes him almost endearing.)

When the phone rings as he's parking his car in front of his apartment, he knows exactly who it is. There's only one person who calls instead of texting Joe Toye, and it's the person who literally cannot take a hint.

"What is it now, Luz?" he says as soon as he answers the phone. He's been through this enough that he's become resigned to it. His voice is hoarse over the line, even rougher than usual -- that’s one of the reasons he hates talking on the phone. It always makes his voice sound like he’s just gargled glass. He wonders if that’s one of the reasons most people are happy not to call him, though obviously Luz doesn’t care.

Without preamble, even so much as a hello, Luz jumps right in. "Do you think horses feel offended when people ride them?"

"Jesus.” Joe slams a hand to his forehead, and he briefly considers reaching through the phone line and smacking Luz in the head. “I don't know. I've never even seen a damn horse in my life."

"Really? Parades? You've never been to parades? I love 'em. There's this one in my town that used to go right past my house --"

Luz continues talking, and Joe slumps against the steering wheel with a sigh. There's absolutely no reason this has to be a real conversation. Luz could have just texted him -- or, hell, _Googled_ it -- and left him alone. Now Joe is trapped in a conversation he doesn't need to be in, and doesn't want to be in.

The worst part is that this isn't even a surprise anymore. This is the fourth time this week, and it's only Tuesday.

Why doesn't he just text? Everyone texts. _Normal_ people text. As far as Joe's concerned, there are only two good reasons to call someone when you have a better option: something bad has happened, or you're just trying to piss someone off.

("I think," says Bill, in that chatty mood he gets when he's halfway into his fifth vodka and orange, "that you’ve got a problem. You just don't like talkin' to people."

"Maybe you're right," says Joe, and takes a long slug of his own drink to avoid just that.)

It isn't that he minds talking to Luz. He just doesn't like talking on the phone in general. It's awkward. He never knows what to say, and texting lets him get to his point in five words or less. There are no formalities, no one trying to make empty small talk by asking him how his day is going or what he had for lunch. Texting is quick, to the point, and Joe likes it a lot better than this.

"And so I swear to god, this one horse jumped a solid five feet in the air, the rider went flying, it's bikini fell off, and that's how I learned horses don't have --"

"Luz." Joe has no clue where this conversation is or how it got there, but Luz is still going. If he doesn't stop him, he’ll go on for hours. "I just got home. I gotta go."

To his credit, Luz doesn’t even sound disappointed. Joe thinks there’s a hint of laughter in his voice when he agrees in that same amiable way of his. “Yeah, sure. I’ll let you go. Call you later!”

“Please don’t,” says Joe, but by that time Luz has already hung up.

Laughing. The guy was _laughing_ at him. As he exits his car, he realizes he’s gripping his phone too tightly, and forces himself to loosen his fist. He isn’t angry, not really.

Joe knows that the only reason Luz calls him up so often is to annoy him, but he can’t understand why he’s become the target of this particular jackassery. He’s asked other people; Luz doesn’t call Lipton like this, he doesn’t call Malarkey -- hell, he doesn’t even call Frank. For some reason it’s only Joe he’s plaguing with the incessant phone calls, and Joe doesn’t know why but he doesn’t like it.

(Maybe incessant is going too far. Luz calls him a few times a day, tops -- which is still more than Joe wants anyone to be calling him.)

As he fishes his keys out of his pocket, he frowns down at his phone and considers blocking Luz’s number. At least that would stop the phone calls for good.

* * *

In the end, he doesn’t block the number. Hell if he knows why -- it’s not like he expects the calls to stop. Maybe there’s a part of him that sort of enjoys the calls, or at least the jokes Luz sometimes texts him at weird hours of the night. Maybe he just has a masochistic streak. Joe has no clue, but he regrets his decision when he’s jolted wide-awake at two in the morning by his phone ringing in his ear.

"Why the hell are you calling me this late at night?"

"Don't know." Luz’s voice is only a murmur over the faint static of the phone. "Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice."

It's not the weirdest reason Luz could come up with. Joe's flash of annoyance passes quickly. It wasn't as if he was sleeping anyway; it may be the early hours of the morning, but it's obvious that this is one of the nights where sleep is determined to elude him for as long as possible. Luz's call provides a welcome disruption from the relentless circling of his thoughts in his half-awake stupor.

He huffs, not annoyed but not quite pleased. "Well, you're hearing it. You happy now?"

"Just thrilled. Now I can die with no regrets."

"Good, because when I get my hands on you, I'm gonna kill you for calling me this late." He takes a moment to consider Luz’s voice. He doesn’t sound upset, and there’s no slur to his words to suggest he’s been drinking. Maybe he just got bored and felt like running his mouth to someone. "Why are you still up? Ain't you heard of this thing called sleep?"

"I could ask you the same question. You sound wide awake."

That just isn’t fair. Joe’s trainload of awful life choices have no business being imitated by any of his friends, especially not Luz. Joe just snorts in response, adjusting the phone as he pushes himself up on his elbow. “Go to sleep, Luz,” he says in a low voice.

“If I could do that, I wouldn’t be calling you.”

Joe sighs, cradling the side of his face in his hand. He doesn’t know what to do in this situation. Maybe it’s exhaustion, but his brain is working slower than usual. So, it seems, is Luz’s mouth; he usually talks three times this amount. He’s got to be as tired as Joe is, if not more.

“I dunno, close your eyes. Count some sheep or something. Take deep breaths, Luz.”

“I’m trying to do all that. It’s not helping.”

“What do you want me to do?”

There’s a pause that stretches on for just a few seconds too long to be a prelude to a joke before Luz pipes up. “Tell me a story?”

Joe would laugh, because it’s exactly the sort of shit Luz would say, except he has a weird feeling that he’s being serious. He waits a few beats more, for a punchline or even a hint of laughter. None comes. Luz remains silent over the line, and Joe doesn’t know what to say.

“Fine,” he conceeds at last. “What about?”

“The princess and the frog. Birds and bees. The dog you had when you were a kid. Christ, Joe, I don’t know, I’m half-awake over here and I just can’t get past the other half. Help a guy out, huh?”

Maybe Joe is a sucker, but there’s nothing he won’t do for Luz, especially when he sounds serious. He sighs, and without taking a moment to consider what he’ll say, he begins to talk.

It’s nothing special; at first he recounts a few movies he’s seen, or at least what he can remember of them. Something jars his memory, because he does start talking about when he was a kid -- light stories, mostly, of growing up with two older sisters who loved to pick on him. Maybe at the end it gets a little personal, because it’s hard to look back on those times without thinking of his dad, and the way he died, and how it still impacts their family today. He doesn’t want to bother Luz with any of that stuff, so he tries to stick to the happy memories. There are a lot of them.

He knows Luz has dropped off to sleep when the sound of heavy breathing all but takes over the other end of the line. He says Luz’s name a few times, just to make sure; when he gets no reply, he smiles to himself. “Night, Luz,” he mutters, before finally hanging up. Maybe he’ll have better luck getting to sleep now that he’s already talked Luz through it.

If he closes his eyes and sees visions of familiar brown eyes and messy hair, well, he figures that’s what happens when you talk to people in the middle of the night.

* * *

 “Hey, Joe, do you think fish aquariums are like giant fish neighborhoods --”

“Goodbye, Luz,” Joe says, and hangs the phone up before he can get started.

* * *

Joe is in the middle of his fifteen minute lunch break when his phone rings.

“Joe?” 

At this point Joe has gotten very used to hearing Luz's voice over the end of a phone line. He knows something is wrong in a second. Luz never calls him while he's at work; and Luz's voice never sounds so small.

"Luz," he says immediately, "are you okay?"

"I don't know," Luz says. His voice sounds shaky, detached from everyone and everything. “There was a whole thing -- _shit,_ I mean, all four of us, we were in the same car, and just --"

“What?” Unable to make heads or tails or what’s being said, Joe can still tell it’s nothing good.

“And the goddamned car, just came outta nowhere, we didn’t even see it, _Jesus_ , and this hospital’s saying I can’t see them --”

"George." Joe cuts through his dazed babbling. "Are you hurt? You gotta tell me, come on. What hospital are you at?"

The one on Pacific Street. St. Angela's," Luz answers automatically. "I'm fine. Fucked up my wrist or something, but that's it. Joe, Skip and Alex, they were in the front seats, they -- they --"

 _Shit._ A single glance at the clock tells Joe he still has an hour left of shift, and he doesn't want to claim family emergency with his boss when he's still in warm water for a lumber mixup last week. He's going to have to stay at work, but the thought of not being with Luz right now makes him want to punch something.

“I’m gonna get there as soon as I can, okay? I’m gonna get there, Luz, I promise. Just gimme a little time, and I’ll be there. Okay?”

He hears Luz swallow thickly over the other end. His answer, if it comes, is small enough that Joe can’t make it out. The adrenaline coursing through Joe’s body is enough that he almost doesn’t notice the line has gone dead until he looks at his phone and sees that the screen is dark.

* * *

The drive to the hospital is ten minutes from the construction site, but traffic seems to make it stretch on for centuries. Joe isn’t proud of the way he screams himself hoarse, or the old lady he curses out on the way. The sound of his pulse pounding in his ears deafens him to anything else, however, and he can't bring himself to regret a thing when all he can think of is Luz in the hospital.

He bursts through the doors of the waiting room, only to find what looks like a scene out of a depressing movie: his friends, all clustered around each other in various degrees of despair. Everyone seems to have gotten here before him. Bill leans forward in a chair, elbows against his knees and hands clenched into fists. Babe is hunched in the corner, looking nauseous. Talbert is anxiously tugging his lip, while in the chair next to him Shifty wrings his hands just to be doing _something_ with them. Even Lipton, who Joe knows is working his ass off with finals right now, is here and talking on the phone in a low voice.

Lipton is the first one to spot him. He mutters something into his phone and quickly hangs up as Joe rushes towards them.

“What happened?” Joe demands. His chest is heaving, and he’s not just out of breath from running. “What was it?”

Everyone stares at him, and he can't help but feel ashamed -- for not getting here earlier, for not knowing where everyone else seems to already be clued in. It's irrational, he knows, and it probably stems from how angry Joe is at himself right now for taking so long.

Lipton rises from his seat and approaches Joe cautiously. When he reaches out to lay a hand on the other man’s shoulder, Joe doesn't pull away.

"There was a car accident," Lipton says, his voice three shades of gentle. "Malarkey, Muck, Penkala, and Luz -- someone plowed down the wrong side of the street, and hit them head on."

Joe curses before he can stop himself. His eyes swivel the waiting room, but he can't find any of his named friends. He can't find _Luz_.

"Penkala is in surgery. Malarkey and Muck both got head injuries, but they say Malarkey's up and talking. Muck is..." Here Lipton stops, swallows hard, and something cold coils in Joe's stomach. He shakes his head to let Lipton know he doesn't need to go on. His urgency must shine in his eyes when he says, "Where's Luz?"

"Getting an x-ray," says Lipton. A hint of tension eases from his face, and Joe doesn't know if this is a good or bad thing. "He's got a hurt wrist, maybe broken, and a bruise on his shoulder that's going to smart later on, but he's okay."

Joe slumps forward. He hadn't realized how much fear was holding him up until it's suddenly all one. Now it's hard to breathe, it's hard to even remain upright under the weight of what's happened. His friends -- some of his closest friends, Malark and Muck and _Luz_ \-- in an accident that nearly killed them?

It's hard to believe. He takes a seat next to Bill, joining the somber vigil of the waiting room. No one speaks; there are no jokes, nothing to lighten the mood and alleviate the pressure as they're doubtlessly would be were Muck and Luz here. Without them, the anxiety smothers the room like a heavy blanket.

Joe doesn't know how much time they’ve passed doing nothing but waiting when the waiting room doors suddenly swing open again. A girl rushes in, dark brown curls windswept about her face. She looks as if she's run all the way to the hospital. Her blue eyes are wide and frightened, and she grips the strap of a bag over her shoulder like a lifeline and she surveys the room.

“Shit,” Bill mutters, rising to his feet. “That's Skip’s girl, Faye.”

“Hell,” says Babe, burying his face in his hands. Lipton starts to go towards Faye, but Bill is already striding across the waiting room. Joe watches his friend take the distraught girl by her arm, lead her over to a set of empty chairs, and begin talking to her in a low voice.

He can't hear what Bill says, but it only takes a few seconds before Faye has her hands pressed to her face, shoulders trembling. Joe can relate. He's so worried that he feels sick to his stomach, and glancing around the waiting room he can tell everyone else feels the same way.

No one wants to look at Faye. No one seems to want to look at each other either, every person caught up in their individual world of worry. After a while Bill leads Faye over to the rest of the group, and he and Lipton take turns comforting the girl. Talbert is busy making calls on his cell phone, every so often cursing and pressing a few more buttons. Babe is biting his nails; Shifty has his eyes closed, not looking at anything.

The frustration is getting to them all. Time whiles away, with no news. The doctor only comes out to them once. Malarkey is asleep again, he says, still in intensive care. Alex is still in surgery. Skip still hasn't woken up, and they're trying to determine the extent of his head injuries. (When Faye hears this, she lets out a loud sob. Bill leads her outside for some fresh air.)

It's torture. Joe’s cracking beneath the pressure, and he's not the only one.

“Doc’s working now, doesn't he know anything?”

“Gene isn't gonna answer his damn phone while he's working,” Babe mutters, in a tone that clearly says he's already tried. Joe grits his teeth, gripping the arm of his chair tightly. He feels the muscles in his arm strain, but it's still no release. This is what he can't stand -- the helplessness of it all. He doesn't know what's going on; he doesn't know where his friends are; hell, he doesn't know if they're alive or dead. It's the worst feeling in the world. Suddenly he would give anything to hear one of Luz’s dumb jokes again, even over a phone line.

As if on cue, the phone in his pocket begins to buzz. Joe nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Hello?” he answers quickly. Then, when no voice comes, he says, “Luz, where the hell are you?”

It takes a moment too long for Luz to reply. “I just got a cast,” he mutters. His voice is flat; every word feels like a punch to Joe’s stomach. “They made me get a CT and all this shit, wanted to make sure I didn't hurt anything important. I'm fine. I've got a huge-ass cast on my wrist, but that's it. I'm fine. They're not even keeping me.”

“Luz…” Joe takes a deep breath, conscious of his friends’ gazes on him. This is the first news they've had in awhile; they're all praying for some information, anything. “Where are you right now?”

“Some bathroom. Hell, I don't know.” Luz gives a breathless, hollow laugh.

Joe curses to himself as he jumps to his feet. “What floor? I'm coming to get you.”

“You don't have to,” Luz says, but Joe is already moving. He shoots Lipton a quick thumbs up, beelining towards the elevators, and doesn't wait for the other man to do any more than return it.

“Yes, I do,” he grinds out. “What floor?”

There is a long moment of silence before Luz finally sighs and answers, “Fifth.”

He has a location, and he's sure that Luz is okay. That's all Joe needs to know.

* * *

 

He finds Luz hunched over a bathroom sink, utterly still. He has his head down, so Joe can't catch his reflection in the mirror, but he can see the tension in every muscle. Luz doesn't look up when the door closes behind Joe; he doesn't even move when Joe says his name.

His breaths are heavy. They echo in the silent bathroom, coming out raspy and strained. He has one arm held in a sling, wrist concealed with a heavy cast that makes Joe wince, but if Luz notices it he gives no indication. There's a bruise visible just beneath his shirt; it must cover his entire shoulder, but Joe can only see the ugly purple creeping up near his collarbone.

When Luz finally does raise his head, he looks haggard. His eyes are hooded, his face is pale, and Joe is pretty sure he's been crying.

“Luz,” he says again, and reaches out. He stops just before laying a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“What's there to say, Joe?” Luz laughs again, halfway to desperate. “I'm fine.”

“No,” says Joe, “you're not.”

“Look at me. I'm okay.”

“You've gotta sit down. Come out, everyone’s worried?”

“Are they?” Luz smiles, bitterness splitting his lips in two. His eyes are so dark that Joe can see his reflection in the deep pools of brown. “Hell, why are they worried about me? I'm fine.”

Joe finally does lay a hand on Luz’s shoulder. Maybe this is what breaks him, because Luz meets his eyes and huffs out a wispy laugh. “I'm okay. But Alex -- shit, Alex was halfway out the window, and Muck’s head was covered in blood, and Malark got tossed around like a freakin’ doll, but I'm -- I'm _fine_. I got a broken wrist. My wrist, Joe, and they're -- I mean, what the hell? What the hell is going on?”

It's the question Joe has been asking himself all day. There isn't an ounce of shame to Luz as he buries his face in Joe’s chest, melting forward all at once as the strength leaves him. Being strong for other people is one thing Joe is good at. He hold Luz up, rubbing the other man's back as his shoulders shake silently.

Luz doesn't weep; he doesn't sob; he doesn't make a spectacle of his despair. Where his happiness is loud and irrepressible, his tears are soft and wordless. It's okay. No words are needed right now, and Joe understands.

He helps Luz clean up. He washes his face for him, scrubs his good hand, and by the time they exit the bathroom again Luz can stand on his own.

“Hey, Luz?” says Joe as they wait for the elevator. “Thanks for calling.”

Luz glances at him, and the look that crosses his face could almost be called a smile. He still doesn't say anything, but that's okay. For once, he doesn't need to.

* * *

The room is so silent that Joe is certain he can make out every person’s individual heartbeat. No one speaks; tension hangs over them like a curtain, thick as molasses and twice as heavy. It only takes a few seconds before Joe wants to jump out of his own skin. This is the time when Luz would pipe up, with some wisecrack or quip to lighten the mood. However, he remains just as oppressively silent as the rest of the room.

They've all been here for hours, but the three patients were moved to their own room only minutes ago. There had to have been some strings pulled, with Gene or some of the other hospital staff, because Joe is sure this many people aren't meant to be in a room at once. Like hell is he leaving, however, and he's not about to ask anyone else. Luz looks like he'd go feral on anyone who tried to chase him out, and no one would blame him for it.

Swallowing, Joe finally pulls his attention away from Luz and directs it towards the people he's been trying hard not to look at. There's a twist in his gut, gnawing and painful, as he regards the friends who are laid out in hospital beds.

Alex woke up a little while ago, still groggy and muddy-headed from anesthesia. His chest is a mess of bandages, where it had all been crushed by broken glass and bones. Now ribs have been set, shards have been removed, and the doctors are saying he'll be alright.

Malarkey is on the other side of the room, keeping himself awake by willpower alone. He has a concussion, so the hospital is being careful to monitor his sleep, but the sweet-looking nurse who came in earlier suggested that he get some rest. Malarkey refused. "Like hell I'm passing out until Skip is awake," he told them, and that was that.

Now there's nothing to do but wait. The doctors say it could be a matter of time before Skip opens his eyes; they also made it clear that it might not happen anytime soon. Joe doesn't care. His friend is in a coma, and he'll wait by his side until Christmas if he has to. No one is leaving until Skip wakes up or they get kicked out, and none of them are willing to go quietly.

Joe glances over at Luz. There is a distance in his stare that scares him. It's miles away from his breakdown in the bathroom, but he still looks very small. His cast seems to double the size of his lower arm; it's bright color washes out Luz's features, making him look solemn and scared. It doesn't suit him at all, and Joe suddenly wants nothing more than to call him back to earth.

He doesn't say anything. When he slips his hand in Luz's good one, he catches the other man's gaze for just a minute before looking away. He squeezes Luz's hand, and fingers tighten around his in reply.

Someone gasps, and Joe's attention is dragged back to the center of the room. Faye is bent by Skip's side, staring intently at his face. One hand is threaded through her boyfriend's messy hair, supporting his head as Skip begins to stir.

Seconds drag on for hours. The silence is a weight on top of his chest. Joe can't breathe, can't even think.

“Wha’s everyone standin’ round for?” Skip slurs, blinking bleary eyes. “Did I miss a party or somethin’?”

The tension snaps like a rubber band, and everyone seems to dissolve in relief. Joe presses a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Faye lets out a choked laugh and smacks the corner of Skip’s bed. “You,” she gasps. “Don't ever do that again!”

Immediately Skip seems a little more aware, taking in the tear tracks lining his girlfriend’s face. As he glances around the room he must pick up on the somber atmosphere, or maybe just realizes he's in a hospital. “Oh man. What'd I do?”

"Someone else drove their car straight into us!" Alex exclaims from the other bed. "We all thought you were a goner, you bastard!"

The room seems to explode in a burst of noise, everyone trying to talk at once. It's chaos; it's wonderful. It's completely alive, and Joe doesn't realize he's grinning until his gaze is drawn back to Luz and he realizes the other man is still silent.

When he places a hand on Luz's shoulder, he feels muscles tense beneath his grip. "Everything's okay," he says, low enough for Luz alone to hear. "Everyone's fine. You wanna go home now?"

He can see the guilt on Luz's face as he nods, but knows that no one will blame him for it. He guides Luz to his feet, and tries not to frown at the way the other man leans into his grip.

* * *

They're halfway to Luz’s house when he finally speaks without being prompted. Joe wasn't expecting it; he almost jumps when the voice cuts through the car’s silence, but regains his composure. Hell, the last thing they need’s another accident today.

“Guess this means I'm not driving for a while,” Luz remarks. “I'll have to hire a chauffeur or something.”

Joe considers this, thoughtful. “How much you payin’?”

“Fifty. A hundred. Hell, my company’s payment enough.”

“Gimme a hundred a day and I'll think about it,” Joe snorts, but it’s a matter of seconds before he sobers. “Really, Luz. You need a ride, you just call me. I'll be there.”

He glances towards the passenger’s seat, only to see the other man’s gaze fixed intently on him. He can't turn back to the road fast enough.

“I can't believe you just told me to call you.”

The realization of what he said sets in, and Joe could almost curse out loud. Now he's got no one to blame but himself. After this, Luz is going to be blowing up his phone day and night…

And he thinks he'd be glad to hear that obnoxious ringtone, the familiar sound of Luz’s voice in his ear, whatever bizarre but irrepressibly cheerful opening line he comes up with. It’s become his normal. Luz’s voice has integrated itself into his life so seamlessly that he never even noticed until he thought he'd lost it.

Joe doesn't say a word after that. He frowns out the windshield, unable to figure out what the hell this means. Anyone else might think he’s just focusing on the road, but Luz is too perceptive for his own damn good.

“You know why I call you all the time? You, and nobody else?”

Joe tenses up. “Well, I'm sure it's not for the pleasure of hearing my voice.”

This makes Luz snort. It's a far cry from his usual cackle, but it's still nice to hear. “Maybe it is. You've got a hell of a voice, you know.”

This is definitely more than Joe can deal with right now. “Luz, are you telling me that the reason you call me every damn day is just cause you like my voice?”

“I mean, I like you too. But your voice is definitely part of it.”

Joe curses, and stops short at a stop sign. Luz lurches forward with a hiss. “ _Easy,_ fragile cargo here! Christ, how many times do I have to almost die in a day?”

Joe isn't focused on driving anymore. He parks the car in the middle of the street and spins towards Luz, who looks surprised at his intensity.

“What are you saying to me right now?”

A nervous swallow makes Luz’s throat bob, but he doesn't turn away. “That I like you. I like you, Joe.”

“For how long?”

“Uhh, a while? I dunno. How long have I known you?”

Joe feels the urge to slam his head into the steering wheel. Holy shit, he's an idiot.

“Hey, are we gonna get back to driving, because I'm pretty sure we're breaking, like, five rules of the road at once here --”

Joe grabs Luz by the collar and shuts him up by pressing their lips together. To Luz’s credit, he doesn't freeze up for a second. He just rolls with it, melting into Joe’s touch and harmonizing their lips as if they were made to be kissing each other.

When they finally pull away, Luz’s face is flushed. Breaths escape Joe in heavy pants, and he isn't sure whether he or Luz is the one who mutters, _“oh, hell,”_ before they're kissing again.

Joe might be an idiot, but he's an idiot who's in love with George Luz. If Luz has taught him anything over the past few months, it's how to pick up a damn phone, and this is one call he isn't about to miss.


End file.
